


A home is where the heart is

by kiirian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, Loneliness, M/M, Slow Burn, but also being alright to just be on your own, later teasing, mr spider and his long legs, sad childhood, the lonely aka the depression metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiirian/pseuds/kiirian
Summary: As Jon grows up he starts treating his loneliness as a friend. It is a constant companion, one that doesn't judge him and lets him just be. He is used to being alone.The only being that has accompanied him is the fog. It has been there when he was a child and when he encountered Mr. Spider. It is no wonder he chooses it when he gets older.It is like a blanket and if not for his curiosity he would feel happy just staying within it. Curiosity pushes him forward.(the Lonely!Archivist AU)
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Peter Lukas/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A dedication: to all other lonely children

Jonathan Simms isn’t a lonesome child. His parents give him all the attention they can. It is no one’s place to tell them it isn’t enough. 

Jon isn’t lonely, at least he tries not to be. He is taught how to read by his mama and with the help of his grandmother, he excels at it. Each time his parents leave him alone in his room he finds a new book to get lost in. The world of fantasy is so close to him he doesn’t think to ask about the white puffy clouds that keep following him around. Not even when they enter his house with him.

It starts during one of the walks through the nearby forest. His father is holding his right hand and his mama is holding the other. They talk over his head and he just observes the world of nature. It is late morning in autumn so the fog isn’t anything extraordinary for the adults. Little Jon is fascinated though. He pulls on his mother’s hand to get her attention. It takes some shaking to finally have her look down.

“What is it, sweetheart?” She asks in a soft voice.

He likes his mama’s voice. It can make every story interesting and beautiful.

“What’s that?” He moves his head toward the puffy clouds lying close to the ground.

He doesn’t want to let go of his dad. That would give him an opportunity to disappear into his office. Even if they are a long way from home Jon still worries that a call from work will reach them. 

“This is fog.” His mama explains to him.

“Those are little droplets of water. Very, very small. Way smaller than the ones you can see dripping from the tap.” His dad appends.

Jon nods. It makes sense. The water dances around them while they wander. His parents go back to the topic they have been arguing over. 

Jon knows when they are quarreling. His mama stands straighter and pulls her arms close to her body. She tugs him closer because of their joined hands. His dad’s voice gets louder when he doesn’t like something his mama is saying. 

“Forget it.” She snaps and the silence falls.

Jon squeezes her hand tightly. He wants to tell her she shouldn’t worry. Everything will be fine. But his parents don’t like it when he speaks up during their adult talks so he stays silent. 

He looks around the forest. He can hear the birds since his parents are quiet. Something brown moves not far from them and he is suddenly a witness to a bushy tail of a squirrel disappearing behind a tree. He lets go of his parents’ hands and runs to the place where he saw it run. 

Each of his steps makes the fog rise. It dances around him and closes up once he passes through it. It doesn’t feel like anything against his skin. He ignores it, too focused on looking for the small animal. 

His parents watch him with amusement. Neither says a word, too aware of their partner’s temper. 

“Come Jon.” His mama speaks up when she sees him trying to get through the bushes on the other side of the tree. “We need to get back. Your grandma will arrive soon.”

With a sad sigh, he leaves the squirrel be. He turns back and stops in his tracks. He can see his parents, but they are just blurry figures standing a few feet away from him. The whitness of the fog makes everything look fuzzy. He steps into it and it surrounds him smoothly. He isn’t afraid of it. He extends his hand so he can touch those small droplets of water. It leaves his skin moist. He raises his arms, imagines becoming a dragon, and flies to his parents.

The fog follows them home. It lies near the ground and Jon is delighted to kick his legs and see it raise. He plays with it while his mother readies the dinner. His dad has disappeared into his office. Jon tried to catch his attention before the door closed and got promised to have his time after the meal. 

So Jon observes the way the fog moves, tries to create shapes with it. They move too quickly for him to form anything lasting.

He swallows down any doubt he has about his dad finding time for him. Instead, he plans what he is going to show him. Maybe his new book. Or that picture they have asked him to make in kindergarten. He doesn’t like it, but his teacher has said it was amazing. Grandma agreed. He has wanted to show it to his dad the day he has brought it back, but he was too busy. And his mama came back late from work so it was only him and grandma until the late evening. 

The fog around him gets thicker. The whiteness feels more solid when he makes it move. It has weight to it. He can raise his hands and it moves with them. It no longer flows near the ground, but it reaches his waist.

“Jon!” He hears his mama’s voice calling for him.

He can see the silhouette of his house so he runs to it. The fog parts before him. He outstretches his hands so he can once again become a dragon flying over the clouds. It feels like he could flap his arms and take off into the sky. It makes him laugh.

With a big smile still on his face, he reaches the kitchen. His mama makes him change out of his outdoor clothes and sits him down at the table. His father joins them soon. There is a tense silence that the scratching of the plates doesn’t dispense. 

Jon looks between his parents. He doesn’t understand why they don’t talk to each other. He opens his mouth to say something, anything. Maybe tell them about his day at kindergarten. He has already told grandma, but they may want to hear about it too.

The phone rings. His dad gets up so quickly it looks like he has been waiting for it. He nearly runs to it. 

“Yes, hello.” He greats whoever is on the other side of the line.

Jon’s mother watches him like a hawk. She looks worried, grips her spoon tightly. Jon focuses on his meal. Since he isn’t supposed to speak, he will do the thing that makes his mama call him her big, clever boy. He takes it upon himself to eat everything on his plate. The rule not to talk during phonecalls keeps his mouth shut even when he remembers that he wanted to tell her about the drawing.

The fog catches his eye. It travels in through the open window. It is one of the big ones with a view of the fields. Mama must have left it open. He observes the fog as it moves in, seemingly moved by the wind coming from the outside. His mother doesn’t notice as she only has eyes for her husband. 

Jon isn’t stupid. The call probably means his dad won’t have time for him. He doesn’t dwell on the nagging feeling in his chest. Instead, he wolfs down his meal and wonders what can he find in the books about the fog and the rain.

* * *

Looking back Jon knows it wasn’t always like that. There were times when his parent found time for him. Yet it was never enough to fully get rid of the fog. He could always see it at the edge of his vision. Even in a room full of children when they preferred to play with each other instead of including him he could feel the wisps of it gently moving against his hand. It felt like a caress, a friend catching his hand to raise his spirit.

On the day he is left alone in this world with his grandmother the fog appears with a delay. He is reading when he gets the news. A simple book about simple problems he has brought back from kindergarten. There are too many pictures in it, which doesn’t let him imagine the animals the way he would like them to see them. 

“What? How? I will be on my way.” He hears his grandmother’s voice from the room next to his.

She sounds strange. He looks up, a fringe of dark hair obscuring his vision. Mama said he needed a haircut. Jon likes his hair like this. It gives him something to hide behind.

Grandma stands in the doorway looking down at him. Her face is pale. She weavers like a mirage, skin pulled taut around her lips. Her eyes seem glazed. The big sweater that normally made her look cozy suddenly reminds him of a scarecrow he has seen during his walk home. She moves like there are guts of wind pulling her in different directions. 

“Jon, you need to come with me.” Her voice is flat and dry.

He stares at her, not understanding. He is supposed to have an hour to finish his reading before his parents come back. Then there will be supper, his mama will talk to his grandma while he reads his book. Grandma will leave, his mama will make him get ready for sleep. Then…

“Jon. Get here. Now.” Behind the dead calmness, grandma seems angry at him.

She doesn’t regularly get angry. Only when he forgets to do something he was supposed to. He quickly gets up and looks around. What is he supposed to bring? A book? His bag?

“Jonathan.” 

He leaves everything and runs to her. It turns out to be the right answer. She doesn’t scold him for running around. Instead, she grabs his arm and pulls him towards the door. They get their shoes on. She makes him pull his arms into his coat even though he has known how to get one on since he was four. Then she grabs her keys and they are out of the house. 

The world outside is gray. Jon is floored by the amount of fog surrendering their garden. It has never been this foggy. He can barely see the car waiting for them. His grandma moves so quickly towards it he needs to run after her so he doesn’t get lost. He feels a deep certainty that if he went into the whiteness he would never find his way back. 

Something deep within him shivers at the idea. He waits until his grandma opens the back door and then crawls into his seat. She slams the door. For a second he is sure she is the one that is going to get lost.

Her white hair blends with the heavy air. Her eyes look dull. She gets into the front seat and starts the car. They leave the driveway and speed towards something Jon is sure he isn’t going to like. He watches the fields passing them by. The golden color of the ears of wheat is washed out. He cannot see the sky behind all the fog. He wonders if it is still there or maybe some kind of monster ate it while they were in the house. The sun must have been eaten too. 

The car takes a wild turn and suddenly they are inside the town. There are no people around, just shops open by no one and ready to welcome no one. Jon starts counting each open sign he can see. The speed of the car doesn’t make his job easy. His mama would be angry at grandma for driving so fast. He doesn’t care enough to remind her about that. 

The town is also filled with fog. He can only see the pavement closest to their car and the shops on that side of the street. 

He looks down to check if his hands still carry any color. Their shade is the same it has been this morning. He pulls at his sweater and it is still blue. So are his socks. His boots are brown and his trousers black. He looks up at his grandma. To his horror, her jacket is no longer bright red. It is a muted brown, a color he has never liked. He pulls at his seat belt so he can bring himself closer to watch her. She is so focused on the road she doesn’t even notice his head piquing from between the seats. 

The street ahead is as bleak as the one passing them in the side windows. Jon looks at his grandma and feels like there is a stranger driving him somewhere he doesn’t want to be. 

“Where are we going, grandma?” He asks, his voice quiet and hesitant.

She twitches in her seat. A quick glimpse to her left makes her realize how close the child has gotten to her.

“Sit back.” She orders him. 

He is obedient enough to get back in his place. She sighs. It isn’t his fault. She doesn’t know whose is, but the child sitting in the back seat is one of the victims. She grips the driving wheel hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“We are going to a hospital. There has been an accident. Your mother isn’t feeling so well after her surgery.” She informs him.

She expects more questions. He only offers a blank stare in the rearview mirror. 

“We need to check if she is alright.” She is worried they may only be able to say their goodbyes.

She has no idea how to tell a child something like this. She leaves the silence hanging over them. She stares intently at the remarkably empty road. The small amount of cars makes it easier for her to get where she is supposed to be. 

Another turn and they arrive at the hospital. She leaves the car in the first available spot, barely waits long enough for Jon to get out, and grabs him so she can carry him while running towards the entrance. The child is pliant in her arms. 

She talks to the first nurse she can spot. She points towards one of the doors and gives them both a sorrowful look. It could mean anything. But it means only one thing. 

The doctor that greats them proves that her fears were right. They are too late. She lets go of Jon before she crumbles into the nearby chair. She doesn’t weep. She just sits there staring ahead. 

The doctor looks at her with sympathy. She takes Jon’s hand into hers and starts to explain to the child what has happened. He keeps stealing glances at his grandma, but she doesn’t pay him any attention. So he looks at the woman holding his hand. 

She looks nice. She keeps talking and talking about heaven and angels. He knows his parents are dead. He has heard the first time. He lets her talk. He doesn’t want her to stop because if she does the fog that has followed them inside the hospital is going to grab him. Or maybe he will wander into it on his own.

The doctor is called by a nurse and she has to leave. Jon grips her hands tighter, hoping she will understand. He doesn’t want to be left alone. Not when his grandmother looks paler and paler. Not when his parents aren’t coming home. 

His grip is too light. She pulls back, pats his head, and with a last nod at his grandmother she leaves them alone.

Jon waits for a little while. He looks at the door they came in. The fog is still there, gathering at the floor. He kicks at it and it dances around him. It looks pretty against the harsh lights of the hospital. He kicks some more, making more of it fly into the air. 

“Jon. Stop.” He hears his grandmother. 

Her voice is even flatter. He follows her command and glances at her. She is staring at him. Her eyes are wet and her makeup is running down her cheeks. He comes closer. He knows that his cheeks are also wet. He has been crying since the doctor went away. 

But he cannot feel the pain. He cannot feel anger. He stares at his grandmother and she stares at him. Finally, she extends her arm and pulls him closer. She pulls him up so he is sitting in her lap and she hugs him. 

He has never noticed how strong she can be. She starts skating against him. They rock forwards and backward. She murmurs about ‘unfair’ and ‘why’. It takes him a second to realize he is the one shaking. His voice is so loud it has been drowning out his grandmother’s whispers. 

He is crying.

He is whaling against her chest. 

He doesn’t care about the fog, he only wants his mama and dad to come back from work to eat dinner. 

They stay like this for a long while. No one bothers them, as they got informed by the head doctor why the child is screaming his heart out in one of the corridors. When he is done his grandmother pulls him back so they can look at each other. She tries to smile, but her lips do not work. She relents when she is sure what came on has been a grimace. 

“We will go back home now, okay?” Even she can hear how devoid of emotions her voice is.

“‘kay,” Jon murmurs. His green eyes are still full of tears.

She nods and puts him back on the ground. He wobbles in place, suddenly unsure how to stand on his own. He grips her hand strongly. The fog is gone. There is only him and his grandma in the corridor and her jacket is as red as strawberries from that stupid book. 

It feels strange, but he is sure it will be back. It always is.

The nurse from before calls them over before they leave. She talks to his grandmother and Jon uses it as an opportunity to look around. HE grabs some flyers from the counter so he can read them in the car. He doesn’t pay attention to the adults. He is suddenly sure that if he hasn’t paid attention to that doctor from before his parent would still be alive. If he hadn’t heard about it it wouldn’t have been real. 

“Jon.” His grandma calls him again. He walks quickly to her. 

Her hand is outstretched towards him. He grasps it strongly, even though it is cold and clammy. His grandmother is still pale, but her clothes are colorful and outside the sun is shining. He doesn’t read the flyers because he is too busy watching the fields of wheat they pass on their way back. Their golden color makes him feel a tad better.

* * *

After that, the fog accompanies him in small doses. 

His grandmother tries for a little while. She tries to be both a mother, a father and a grandparent. She comes to his parent-teacher conference but once she realizes Jon isn’t causing any trouble and his grades are always fine she starts omitting every third of them. Then every second. Then she appears only at the start and the end of the school year. 

They see each other during the breakfasts and the suppers but they mostly eat in silence. There is no fog in their house, but he hasn’t seen his grandmother wearing anything colorful in months. Even the dark clothing looks gray instead of black. Her eyes have lost their color. They don’t look at him, instead, they just stare at the plates in front of her. Their dullness reflects the table and the meal she has made for them. 

At some point, Jon has started bringing books with him to the table. She doesn’t comment and neither does she try to talk to him once he starts reading. She keeps the TV on all the time and looks at it over his shoulder while he burns through another tale. When they are done Jon helps with washing the plates. His grandmother opens the kitchen window, gets out a cigarette, and smokes it while watching him. It is the only time they regularly try to talk.

“How is school?” She asks between puffs.

“Good.”

“Any girls picking your interest?”

“No.”

“Boys?”

“No.”

“Any information from the teachers I should know?”

“Nothing.”

The silence falls after they go through the scripted set of questions. Sometimes he tries to change it. He tries to talk. It happens during the sunny days when there is no natural fog outside reminding him of the one that follows his steps.

“One of the books you have brought is interesting. It talks about witches and magic. There are even spells in it. It looks old.”

“Hm. Good.” She finishes her cigarette. She puts it out and throws it into the bin. “Are you going to try any?”

“Why would I? It’s just an interesting topic to read about.”

“Of course.” She says in her flat tone. 

She doesn’t give him time to continue. She turns her back to him and walks to the living room. The TV’s volume has been lowered for the meal but now it is brought back up.

“I will be here if you need me.” She calls to him from the sofa.

He quickly shuts the kitchen window so the fog doesn’t climb inside. He can tell that even if the day has been sunny the evening is going to be damper.

He takes his book back to his room. He leaves it on his bed and dresses up for a walk. There are parts of the forest that look different at night.

* * *

 _The Tale for Mr. Spider_ is there when he gets back from school the following day. It is hidden between other books and as he reaches for it a deep panic settles in his bones. His curiosity fights with his survival instinct. 

The book oozes violence, yet it isn’t that what makes him want to pull back. It is the feeling of being controlled. He wants to pull back and run. To hide away from this book, from his grandmother and other people. For a second he wishes to disappear in the fog. 

The picture on the back cover, the spider with its black legs and the swollen abdomen doesn’t sit well with him. The bleakness of it is broken by the garish red hat the spider is wearing. Deep inside he begins to resent this book, more than he has ever hated anything. It makes him feel dirty, but its call is too strong, and he has to see what is inside it.

He doesn’t notice when he leaves the house. He is so caught up in the reading that he could walk under a running car and not notice it. His boots disturb the fog on the ground. It doesn’t dance. It curls around him and steers him away from any doors that he could encounter. 

It gently guides him towards the park and then disperses. He doesn’t even notice the sudden reappearance of other people. The big letters would normally jar him for being too childish but the ‘KNOCK KNOCK’ makes something in his stomach churn. His feet steer him towards a nearby building. He begins to walk, his head still in his book. Then a large hand grabs the book and takes it from him.

A local bully, the same one he has taken to avoid by hiding in the fog looks down at him. He spits at Jon, makes fun of him for reading a book for children. And Jon just watches him. Watches as the bully trails off, as the book mesmerizes him. He follows the older teenager to the same door he has wanted to go to. Jon feels detached from what he is seeing. Like a movie playing on a screen or something happening to someone else he observes himself watching another human. 

The bully stands in front of the door, his eyes scanning the pages. He must finish the book before he is ready. Jon controls his breathing and comes a little closer. He doesn’t want to disturb whatever is happening. But he wants his book back. He might hate it. He may even want to burn it. But it is his, his knowledge, his terror. It belongs to him.

The other kid finally reaches the end of the short story. He raises his hand slowly. His eyes are scanning the last page and in his mind, Jon can see the ‘KNOCK KNOCK’ written there. 

The door opens and the darkness at the other side is encompassing. The night has fallen over them, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the nothingness waiting behind that door. 

Jon can see something appearing around the bully. The gray strands circle him. Suddenly he is certain that if he waits a moment longer it will be too late. He darts forward and tears the book away from the bully’s hands. Normally he wouldn’t stand a chance against an eighteen-year-old boy. This situation proves to be different. His hands open. He doesn’t even glance at the child that is partially the cause for his coming death. His eyes are too focused on what is ahead of him. 

Jon jumps back. He isn’t swift enough. Black, hairy legs shut out of the door. They are large, impossibly long. The skin covering them so thin he could see each tendon move if he had the time. 

One of those limbs tries to wrap around him. He lets out a shout loud enough that someone should have noticed. It is the fog that saves his life. 

He pulls on it and suddenly he is surrendered by whiteness. He is alone and the house he has been standing in front of is gone. So is the bully. 

He looks around and lets out a sigh of relief. He is safe. He is alone. 

He looks down at the book he is clutching in his hands. It still looks terrifying. His hands are wet and sticky from a blad tar leaking from the pages. 

Now though he knows why the book is so strange. The spider waiting behind that door isn’t something to trifle with. He keeps the book closed with both of his hands during his walk home. The fog accompanies him all the way even though it thins down once he gets to his house. His grandmother is back from her part-time job and she looks from the TV screen when he gets inside. 

“Don’t come back so late.” She tells him and turns the volume up.

He treats it as dismissal. He enters his room. It hasn’t changed during his absence. It feels wrong to be here even though he isn’t the same Jon he was hours ago. Each part of the furniture feels different like someone has come in and moved each object an inch to the left.

A glance at the clock tells him it has been hours. He takes a deep breath and looks down at the book. The feeling it has given him before is gone. It doesn’t feel safe, but the violence isn’t so prominent. No, it feels satiated. Like a cat after a good meal, it is sleepy. 

He knows books aren’t alive. He isn’t a child. But this one is different. He has seen proof of that. He lowers it to the ground. He tries to keep it in his sight when he picks up one of the looser floorboards. He has always wanted a secret stash, a place to keep the books he has liked. The problem is he has never liked any book enough to use it. And there is no sense to have a secret place if his grandmother never enters his room anyway.

He takes _A guest for Mr. Spider_ and puts it there. He makes sure to keep the title way up. A predator with a full stomach still poses a threat. He is sure he hasn’t blinked even once since he got the courage to look down at the book. He doesn’t break his gaze up until it is covered by the floorboard. Once it is secured he quickly gets up and moves away from the spot. He almost runs to the window and gets it open. Just like he thought it would the fog greets him. He lets it in. Sitting on his windowsill he looks up at the stars.

For a second he wonders about sharing what has happened with his grandmother. He dismisses the thought quickly. She is busy with the telly. 

Besides she never really listens, just nods and waits until he is finished to tell him to go and play in his room. He lists other adults he knows that could help. His teacher and the doctors he had been in contact with. But he knows it would cause a problem for his grandmother. She may even get angrier than the last time the police have brought him back home from his nightly wanderings. 

More importantly, he isn’t sure they would believe him. 

He doesn’t’ even entertain the idea of talking to someone his age. They are boring and they do not speak to him anyway. He is left with the book and the knowledge that someone has been taken by it. He worries over what the parent of the lost child will say. What if they know it was all Jon’s fault? 

He moves around a little. It makes the fog weaver around him. He looks at it with wonder. It has saved his life. It has answered his call. He lets his finger stir the fog around. It dances around him. He makes a wish then. 

He hopes that just as it did before the fog will hear him. That it will answer his call even if no one ever really did. He squeezes his eyes shut. The pressure is big enough to bring out some tears. They gather in the corners of his eyes but do not fall.

Once he is sure his wish has been articulated loud and clear he opens his eyes. He is still alone in his room, the fog his only company. He exhales. 

He will have to find out if his wish has been heard tomorrow. For now, he takes a blanket from his bed and curls up under the window. He doesn’t want to read anything. His limbs feel heavy. The sweat makes the air chilly against his neck. His bed is too close to the book. He has to move it if he wants to sleep there. He promises to himself that he will do it tomorrow. For now, his eyes feel too heavy. 

He leaves the window partially open. The space left is enough for the fog to still invade his room but not big enough for his grandma to notice any drafts. He closes his eyes, pillows his head on his hands, and sleeps. 

* * *

No one asks about the boy that wandered into the Spider’s den. Jon isn’t stupid enough to go asking about him. He keeps his eyes wide open and listens to his grandma talking about calling the girl who leaves down the street to come and help her with some heavy works. 

There are no missing posters. In a town so small there is no way he could have missed one. Jon spots the bully’s mother in a convenience store. She keeps on putting food in the stroller while looking at the shopping list in her hand. She nods at his grandmother when they pass her and smiles at Jon. He doesn’t answer with one of his own. Instead, he keeps staring at her up until the moment his grandmother shakes his arm. She has noticed the prolonged look. 

“Quit it.” 

Jon looks back at the mother. She doesn’t look sad. She looks normal. Maybe a little weirded out by a child in a store. There is no proof of her griefing after a dead son. 

He tails after his grandmother and once they are out of the store he finds enough courage to ask.

“Do you remember the guy that has helped us last summer?”

“What?” His grandmother starts the car. 

“He carried the boxes out.” The ones with his parents’ things. 

“What are you talking about? July was the one helping us.”

His brow furrows. It may be a sign it did work.

“She did? I think it was that guy?”

“What guy? Jon, I am telling you. It was July.”

“He is the son of the lady we met at the store.”

His grandmother looks at him in the rearview mirror. “Stop saying things like that.” Her tone is sharp.

“Why?” He doesn’t let up.

“Because I am telling you to.”

“What happened? Does she have a son?”

“Jonathan. Stop it.”

“I want to know.”

“And I am telling you to stop. So stop it.”

“Why?”

His grandmother grinds her teeth. Her voice has been getting louder and louder with each sentence. She takes in a deep breath and tries to school her expression.

“You won’t go talking about her son because he has died in an accident.”

She makes sure he understands it is the end of the conversation by the tilt of her tone.

“When?”

She curses under her breath. “Long ago. Ten years. Eleven. I don’t know.”

Happy with the answer he sits back. It did work. His grandmother keeps shooting him glances, waiting for another barrel of questions. 

He looks down at his hands. The fog has listened to him. There is something light bubbling in his stomach. He feels special. Finally, someone has listened to him. It feels even better than a box of new books. Or maybe as good. He finds it hard to compare. 

He wonders what else the fog can do. It has kept him safe. Sometimes it accompanies him on his way to school which has made it easier to deal with the bullies. He simply goes back in the fog thick enough not to be noticed. Or maybe he too disappears in it. 

Fear grips his insides. What if he too disappears from people’s memories when he travels through the fog? His grandmother forgets about him only to remember him when he gets back. He steals a quick look at her. She keeps her gaze on the road ahead. He wonders if she would even care if he never came back. 

He shakes his head to get rid of the thought. It tastes foul in his mind. He looks outside the window. They are passing by the fields of wheat and he can see the sun reflecting from it. There is a fog there, like always. He smiles at it, happy to see it is still there. A part of him has been scared it decided it was done with him after helping him with Mr. Spider. 

They reach their house at record speed. It is one of those days when there is nearly no one else on the road. 

His grandmother asks him to help her with the groceries. Once they are done she just waves at him. She has her TV to get back to. He runs to his room to check if the floorboard is in its place. Once he is sure it is still there he grabs his backpack, a new book, and goes outside. He calls out to tell his grandma he is going out. She doesn’t answer, but that is nothing new.

He goes into one of his favorite places. A trail behind his house leads into the forest. If he follows it for long enough he can reach a clearing. He lies down a blanket he always carries in his bag. He settles on it and opens the book. He doesn’t have to look around to notice the fog is gathering around the clearing. It settles around him like a blanket. 

* * *

He grows up surrendered by the fog. It is there when other students talk to each other and he is too busy with his books. It gyrates around his fingers whenever he catches people kissing at the back of the school. He lets it in whenever he opens his window at night to smoke a cigarette. 

Teachers sometimes overlook him in class which proves to be useful whenever he gets too caught up in his reading. The school subjects aren’t much of a problem besides being dreadfully dull. He starts to order books for the local library so he can finally read things differently than a random batch he used to get from his grandmother. 

His marks are rather satisfactory but each teacher that gives him his work back looks surprised. Jon writes it up to them forgetting about him. he uses it whenever he wants to continue reading during class. There is a great distance between his desk and those belonging to other students. 

He never tries to ask anyone for help or to borrow any supplies. He always has everything he needs. If he forgets anything the distance looks to be too big to try to reach out. He feels like he would need to shout. The thought makes him smile. He abhors shouting. 

He does his notes, writes down every assignment, and solves all math problems. He does it as fast as he can just so he can back to his books. Once they are in his hands he is finally where he belongs. Sentence after sentence he is pulled into a different world. Even the driest story is more interesting than his peer's problems. He doesn't particularly like fantasy, the tales too removed from reality simply bore him. Those concerning real people make him feel closer to those he has never met.

Often he finds himself knowing more than the teacher telling them facts about history. It would be his favorite subject if not for the amount of useless information that borders on propaganda they feed him. He keeps his head low, sometimes murmurs his displeasure under his breath whenever he hears another falsehood. 

He looks up only once and catches the eye of a girl sitting nearby. She is looking at him, her gaze judging. The distance between them suddenly feels even bigger than ever before. Jon turns back to his notes, his cheeks red and hands shaking. People are the strange ones for him. Reading about them proves much more useful.

He doesn’t try to make anyone else disappear. He worries about overusing such a gift and the price he will undoubtedly pay for it. He has read enough books about the supernatural to know such a gift comes with a price. But even years in he hasn’t noticed it. He is cautious with calling it a gift even though it continues to look like one. 

The fog that follows him reminds him of some otherworldly guardian. It keeps him safe from other monsters and people that prove too much of a liability. He sometimes wanders into it on his walks through the town and welcomes the quiet world it leads to. There he can read in peace. It bothers him that there are no real books in this version of the local library. 

The effort required of him makes him grit his teeth and curl his hands into fists. The lady at the desk in the hall smiles at him each time he visits. She even recommends books for him. He decides, after a few visits, that he may like her. He is still cautious around her, recites the things he is going to say in his mind before speaking but once he is there he feels better. She gives him the recommendation, brings out the books he has ordered. He takes them, tries to smile, and leaves. The fog doesn’t follow him inside but once he is out it crawls around him like a blanket. 

He starts to research the paranormal. Many of the books he comes across prove to be useless. He brings them back to the library with a scowl. The lady at the desk smiles at him with understanding and tells him about the place he should look into if he wants anything even remotely close to the truth. The Magnus Institute in London. 

Jon weighs his options. He is graduating in a year and he hasn’t encountered anything resembling Mr. Spider since he was eight. He has time. He makes sure to check if his library is able to borrow books from The Institute for him. It would take time but he would be able to secure a few interesting resources. He decides it will be enough to keep him occupied. He makes sure to thank the nice lady once again when he is leaving. He has never cared to ask her name and there is no name sign at her desk. He is curious for just a second about her but then lets it go. People are never that interesting once he gets to know them. 

* * *

The books he gets do not concern a friendly fog. They talk about tribes living in Africa or the rites of passage of Native Americans. They are mostly written by white researchers that spend a few days with natives and tried to create an interesting tale out of their customs. 

Jon rereads some passages, for the first time makes himself look at the same pages twice. Between the words, he finds some truths. He starts a journal in which he details each fact he has managed to find. He stores it next to _The guest for Mr. Spider._

The book still gives him nightmares but he can feel it is not time yet. It isn’t hungry even though its last meal is almost fully digested. He doesn’t let himself think what it will do once it is done with his bully. Ten years is enough time for an abomination like it to create a plan of revenge for imprisoning it. He checks on it every time he has to note some discovery. 

Each time it is still there he feels the dread creeping up his back and a sense of relief deep in his stomach. A part of him always hopes it will be gone. Another cannot bear to lose it. 

Another year passes him by. His notebook has grown into two additional ones. He has a basic picture of entities depending on fear and different cultures worshiping them. His eyes must be guided by one of them he realizes. And the fog must also accompany him for a reason. He tries to feel more distrustful towards it but it never sticks. He doesn’t have it in him to forsake his only companion. 

The time he spends at school makes him as isolated as the moments he is at his house. His grandmother is there to make sure he doesn’t go hungry. With time she has stopped asking any questions which make him glad. There is nothing in his life that would interest her. She doesn’t even look at him when they pass by each other in the corridors. He has a sneaking suspicion he looks too much like her son for her to be able to talk to him. 

It gives him an idea. One that rattles in his brain until he cannot ignore it. 

He has been gathering money his grandmother has given him as a monthly allowance. It isn’t much but enough to buy food for a little while. And he can always sleep in the other world, the one hidden by fog. 

He waits until the graduation, beating his breath to finally be able to have free access to the books he needs. It feels like a magic line. Once he graduates he will fulfill his responsibility towards his parents and grandmother. He will be on his own. He waits anxiously for the graduation. 


	2. Chapter 2

On the day of graduation, he wears his best suit. His grandmother was there to help him with picking it and it fits him perfectly. He would prefer his usual sweater and jeans but at least no one has made him comb his hair in the same style most of his male classmates are sporting. 

He stands in the back, ready to finally receive his diploma. He feels bare without the fog there to accompany him or a book to distract him from all of the people around him. He starts counting the tiles on the ceiling of the hall. 

He wishes it would make him less aware of the sweat running down the throat of the girl in front of him. Or the press of the warm body of some stranger from behind. His throat is dry as a desert. He starts counting backward in his head. It keeps him grounded enough until he has to walk to the center of the stage. He doesn’t smile or wave at anyone. He shakes the hand of the principal and tries no to run out of the stage. Once he is done he doesn’t feel like staying for any minute longer. His grandmother catches him outside. It is one of those rare days when she is wearing something colorful. She even looks proud.

“You okay, Jon?”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that the gentle breeze and the welcoming feeling of fog against his hand are the only things keeping him alive. 

“Yes, everything is fine.”

“Don’t you want to stay longer? Maybe say goodbye to some teachers?”

“No, no. We have spent enough time on farewells yesterday.”

She nods with understanding. He hasn’t said goodbye to anyone.

“If you don’t want to stay with your schoolmates we can do it back home. There’s a cake waiting for you.”

“You made a cake?”

“Of course. It is not often that my grandson graduates.”

They are both quiet on their way home. Jon doesn’t weaver in his decision. The tightness of his throat is just a sign of excitement. He looks out at the fields. It will feel strange to never see them again. A part of him is glad though. Being able to abandon this town takes his breath away. There aren’t things he will miss that he can’t find anywhere else. And London seems to have enough of everything. Even kind ladies in libraries.

“So where are you sending your papers?” His grandma parks the car easily in front of the house.

He already misses the silence. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“Do you have enough time to think about it now?”

“I think so.”

She sighs. She has never been good at talking to teenagers.

“Come on.” She gets out of the car. 

They end up sitting at the kitchen table. The cake isn’t anything fancy, just an old recipe she’s had for a long time. Jon takes a bite and smiles. His face lights up beautifully. It’s a pity he does it so rarely.

“I hope you will remember to write home. Or maybe call home at this day and age.”

“I will.”

She doesn't really believe him. And she can’t even blame him. Not when a very large part of her is glad he will be moving out soon.

“What about the field of your studies? You must have thought about that.”

“Literature.”

“I could have guessed.” She shakes her head. “After the fuss, you kept on making about the books. Nowadays it would be even harder to find you without one.”

She can tell he isn’t listening to her. His eyes look at her, but his mind is occupied with something else. 

They finish their pieces in silence. He starts looking around the kitchen like he needs something but he doesn’t get up. He just sits in front of her, his gaze mapping the whole room. 

“So feel free to tell me when you find any University that interests you.” She gets up and takes the plates with her.

Jon makes a sound of affirmation. The chair scratches against the floor when he gets up. For a long minute, there is no other sound. She feels his gaze on her neck. After a long, tense moment he leaves without saying anything more. 

He waits for a few hours before leaving. He has enough time to get to the station before the train to London leaves. He has gathered all that he needs in his bag. A few clothes, his notebooks, and _the Guest for Mr. Spider_. He wonders if he should take something to remind him of his parents or grandmother but he can’t say he cares about them enough to be weighed down by any reminders. He passes by the couch on which his grandmother is watching TV when he leaves. She doesn’t raise her head and he doesn’t stop. He wants their last memory to be of a sunlight kitchen and a cake. Not a dark living room lit up by the TV screen and her voice telling him not to come back too late.

Outside the steps into the fog. He calls to it and it answers more readily than ever before. It feels heavier, starts to press against him. He takes a deep breath and feels it filling his lungs like cigarette smoke. He doesn’t choke. With a breath out he lets his wish be heard. He asks and breaths in again. He doesn’t feel anything has changed. Or at least he hasn’t changed. He hasn’t felt any pinpricks of pain and he didn’t start to fade like a ghost. He is still there, surrendered by fog. His hands are the same color they were minutes ago. He looks back at the house. He doesn’t want to check if it did work. For him, it is a point of no return. 

He pulls his jacket tighter around himself and starts a slow trek to the train station.

* * *

London proves to be incredibly loud. He tries traveling with other passengers but the amount of people pressing against him, shouting over him, pulling at his clothes makes him pull back. He spends most of his time in the bleak world behind the fog where he can breathe easily. He steps out of it to buy a map and something to eat before pulling at the fog again. The unchanging quiet feels like home. On his journey to the Institute, he feels the excitement growing. He hopes he will be able to get inside without getting outside of the fog. The rides exhausted him too much to keep a polite conversation. 

The building of the Institute isn’t as impressive as he has hoped it would be. He knows it isn’t the building itself that interests him but what is inside yet he feels like a child denied a toy. 

He goes in without a hitch. The signs informing which parts of the library are open and where they store different topics look washed out but he can read them without a problem. He thanks any god watching that the doors to the parts of the library designated for those with various permits stand open in his world. There he pulls against the fog and soon enough finds himself surrendered by books. He trails his fingers against their backs and takes in a deep breath. The smell of old paper and ink feels like coming home after a long journey. He picks one book at random. Then he selects a few different ones. Armed with a stack of books he pulls the fog towards him. 

Once he is alone he feels the lack of a strange feeling at the back of his neck. He looks around but the fog is there like always. It isn’t it that made him feel that way. It was the Institute itself. He frowns. 

The feeling reminds him of the few times he has found something strange in his books, came across an idea hidden behind strange wording and metaphors. He hasn’t felt it in his local library. 

It doesn’t feel like jumping to conclusions to think the Insitute belongs to one of the powers. The one connected to knowledge. The cliche of a library being a stronghold of an all-knowing entity makes him smile. He would hate it if he read it somewhere, even though it makes perfect sense. 

He looks around for a good spot to sit down and read. He pulls out a chair from a nearby table and starts devouring the first book. 

He has never stayed long enough in the fog to notice how there is no hunger or thirst there. He only needs to sleep from time to time and besides that, he can continue his reading. He starts filling up his notebook which is the only thing that prompts him to leave. He has exchanged the books stacked on his desk several times and never came across any free notebook. 

He decides to search the working area of the Insitute employees. He would give a lot to just find a blank set of pages, just ready for him to use. He feels like leaving the Institue means never coming back. The dark walls already feel to him like somewhere he belongs. Or maybe the books do. He could read them anywhere as long as there would be fog to keep him safe. He passes by a set of desks and quickly turns his steps there. 

Bare wood greats him. He scowls. There are no office supplies, nothing personal on any of them. It could be a room in any office in the world. He doesn’t want to risk going back into the world to be caught stealing. There is a chance though he won’t be. He looks at his watch. It is late in the evening if he is to believe it. With a deep breath, he lets the fog disperse. 

The world around him is dark. There are no lights on and it seems everyone has left for the night. He looks down at the desk he has been looking through before. His eyes need time to get used to the dark but once they do he can see the outline of a set of papers. He tries checking if anything is written on them but no matter how close to his face he holds them he can’t be sure. With a shrug, he picks them up. He carefully walks around the office, trying not to bump into desks or chairs. He gets as much paper as he can get and asks the fog to take him back. The feeling of being watched doesn’t disappear completely this time. He feels it is only fair. He is on its territory. He goes back to his favorite spot among the books and continues to write down his findings.

* * *

He is woken up by someone speaking. For a few minutes, his confused mind doesn’t make much of it. Maybe the TV in the living room is too loud. It has happened. 

Then the thought of his town disappears and he is very much aware he isn’t in his bed. He is sleeping on the floor in the Magnus Institute. And he is supposed to be alone among the fog.

“Truly Peter. He has been scaring my employees for the last few months. Missing pens are one thing. He has stolen printed files and secure information about the inner workings of the Institute.” A cold voice speaks from somewhere not too far away.

“So they should have put them in a more secure location.” A man closer to him argues. His tone is light and joking. “And all the kid did with them is make a diary. It’s not company espionage.”

A hand touches his forehead. Rough fingers move away some of his hair. The heat radiating from them feels like too much. Jon jerks back, his eyes wide open. 

The man closer to him smirks. His warm coat doesn’t hide how broad his shoulders are and Jon is sure he would catch him if he tried to run. A part of him is scared. He looks at the man standing further away. Cold, gray eyes observe his every move and the feeling they leave behind isn’t that much different from the one left by the Insitute’s god. It feels stronger though, more invasive. 

“Look who is awake.” The one closer to him speaks. “So tell us, lad, have you been spying on the Insitute?”

“That’s absurd.” Jon croaks. His throat is dry. 

The fact he doesn’t remember the last time he spoke to anyone also doesn’t help.

“What are you doing here then?” The one in the suit asks.

“Reading.”

It earns him a prolonged laugh and a sigh. 

“Let me ask differently then: why are you here?”

“The Magnus Institute has the biggest library about the paranormal.”

“And you need it because?”

“Don’t torture the kid, Elias.” The man closer interjects. “He has been living in the Lonely out of his own will. Of course, he wants to know more about it.”

“It’s not so obvious. Your patron doesn’t entertain curiosity.”

“Ahh. We have only met him and you are already trying to stake the claim? Not fair.”

“I need it to know what it is.” Jon moves quickly, partially scared they are going to make a decision about him without his permission.

He jerks his bag open. It makes the fog hiding in the corners dance. He pulls the book about Mr. Spider out. With a quick glance at the bookshelves, his fears are proved true. They are still in the fog. Those two have found him where no one else ever did. 

He tries to swallow enough of his own spit to make his throat work. He presents the book to them.

“Would you look at that…” The one called Peter looks back at the other man. “Seems our boy is truly something else.”

Elias keeps glancing between Jon and the book in his hands. 

“How long have you had it?”

“Ten years.”

Peter whistles. “A decade with a spider.”

“I kept it under the floorboards of my room.”

That earns him a raised eyebrow from Elias. “Why didn’t you get rid of it?”

Jon moves in place awkwardly. “It is mine. It has found me. And I wanted to learn more about it.”

The older men exchange looks. Elias looks very much pleased with his answer.

“Indeed. What have you found out?”

Jon is much more reluctant to share his findings. A quick glance towards a stack of notebooks and papers lying next to his bag. 

“Would you look at that?” Peter hums under his breath. “How long exactly have you been here, lad?”

“Depends on the current date.”

“Fith of January.”

“What year?”

“Two thousand and eight.”

“Half a year then.”

Peter whistles again. “I must say I am impressed.”

It causes a warm feeling in Jon’s chest. He stomps down on it. These two strangers pose threat to his research. He wants to stay in his corner of the library. The routine of looking through books to find the truth and noting down his findings has brought him more pleasure than anything else he has ever done.

“Do not worry. Your work here is rather impressive. I wouldn't want to keep you from researching.”

Jon looks up so fast Peter is half-convinced the kid will get whiplash. His 'deer caught in the headlight's' expression does make him chuckle though. 

“Eh, he does that a lot. The biggest voyer I know.” He tells Jon like it is a secret and winks.

The kid mulls over the new information. He doesn’t ask stupid questions about thought reading and whatnot. 

“You belong to the Watcher. And you” He looks at Peter. “You belong to the fog. To the Lonely.”

“The fog. It is a good description of it.” Peter stands up from his crouching position. 

He extends his hand to Jon. “Come on, lad. We can move this somewhere more comfortable.”

“I like it here.” At Peter’s raised eyebrow he feels compelled to explain. “It is quiet here. Not too many people.”

“I would worry if there was too many of them in the Lonely.”

“You are here.” 

Peter laughs a deep, belly laugh. “Oh, he bites.” He doesn’t lower his hand. “Come on. Your notes are safe here, pinky swear. We will get them on a shelf or something.”

Jon looks between him and Elias. The other man is also observing him closely. He doesn’t protest at the invitation. Neither does he speak up. He looks more content to see what Jon will do.

Jon takes a deep breath in. There is no way for him to run. He accepts the hand.

Peter’s strength surprises him. He stumbles forward and is caught by the other man. 

“So eager, eh?”

Jon colors red. He glances up but the smirk seemingly attached to Peter’s face makes his gaze dropdown. 

“I am certainly not.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Don’t antagonize him, Peter.” Elias finally interjects. “Come now. Let’s move it to my office.” 

Jon extracts himself from Peter’s grasp. He quickly walks towards Elias. He expects the other man to show him the way. An arm gently linking with his makes him freeze. The warmth he has felt coming from Peter is nothing compared to the blazing heat he feels emanating from Elias. He wonders how the skin on skin touch would feel. 

Suddenly he is reminded that he is standing in front of a mind reader. He knows his face must be beetroot red. 

“And who is antagonizing him now?” Peter gets close 

“Still you.” Jon quips back. 

He feels Elias chuckle. “The boy has said it himself.”

“I am not a boy. I’m twenty.”

“Would you look at that? A real adult.” Peter opens the door leading out of the library.

Elias leads Jon through the halls. He knows his way and Jon suddenly realizes he has no idea what position the older man holds in the Insitute. He only knows their names.

The office they arrive at is situated at the heart of the Institute. Jon tenses when they get closer to the door leading inside. They pass by the assistant’s desk, empty like all others. Only when they get inside the fog starts to thin. Jon looks back at Peter. The other man winks at him as he pulls them back to the real world. 

At the hesitation visible on Jon’s face he chuckles. 

“Don’t worry. No one bothers the Head unless they want to be scolded.”

“Is this why you show up unannounced so often?” Elias raises his eyebrow.

“Shhh. Don’t go sharing my secrets.”

Jon looks around. Being in a fully colored office feels weird. He has gotten used to the bleak colors and coldness. The air feels too warm, bringing the memories of summers and sunshine. 

“Have a seat.” Elias gently nudges Jon towards the sofa. 

He sinks down into the soft plush. He runs his fingers down the material. It has been so long since he has felt something other than paper. The pleasure he feels runs down his arm and pools in his stomach. 

“The Lonely can do that to you.” Peter settles next to him. He points towards his moving arm with a smirk. His eyes look gentler than before. “You get used to nothingness and once you are out everything feels even stronger.”

“The Lonely…” Jon pauses tasting the world. It feels feating. “It is better. Sometimes. It is quieter.”

“That for sure.” Peter nods. “But it is easy to get lost there.”

“I just followed the path.” Jon tries to make the other man understand. “I know that if I took a wrong turn I would be lost. But there has always been away from where I entered the palace I wanted to arrive.”

“Curious.” Peter rubs his beard. Even though everything else has regained color his pale skin and light red hair remain unchanged. He is the only thing in the room that doesn’t hurt Jon’s eyes. “What about calling on it on your own? Or when you sent someone there?”

A clinic of glass is laid on the table breaks their conversation. Elias leaves a glass full of water for Jon and passes one filled with scotch to Peter. He takes a sit in the chair next to the sofa.

“I just pulled on it. I can always feel it lurking in the corners. It answers when I want it to take me back.” Jon weights his next words carefully. “It has saved me, I think. From Mr. Spider.”

“The Web’s book, yes?” Peter nods. “Alright, so you have been marked by the Lonely before.”

“Marked isn’t the right word.” Elias rebuts him. “Jon here isn’t a prey.”

“How did you?” Jon catches his eye. He gets a feeling that even though his face remains placid Elias’s eyes laugh at him.

“I can connect the person borrowing books through their local library with a boy hiding amongst my bookcases”

“And he can read thoughts.” Peter adds at the same time Jon grumbles “Not a boy” under his breath.

“So since I don’t have such amazing powers” The irony is so strong Jon actually smiles. “I would prefer for us to make it official. Peter Lukas, at your service.”

“Elias Bouchard.” 

“Jonathan Sims. But Jon is fine.”

“Alright, Jon. So how do you hunt?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean how do you send people to the Lonely. Use them as the sacrifice to the god you have been researching.” Peter makes a vague gesture.

“I don’t… From what I have gathered I do not send people to the Lonely. I just…” He looks between them with hesitation written all over his face. “The time the fog saved me it didn’t save another boy. He was devoured by Mr. Spider. And I made a wish. He was wiped out of existence. I gathered that officially he has died in infancy.”

“Now that’s something.” Peter sounds impressed. “So you just made him disappear.”

“Not really. I just asked the fog to make it as he has never really been there.”

“Asked? Literally said it to it?”

“More like the thought at it. If it makes sense.”

“Yes, it does,” Elias informs him. He has a calculating look in his eyes. “You didn’t only use the Lonely, did you? The knowledge isn’t a part of it.”

“I don’t know?”

“Are you trying to bring him to your side?” Peter’s brow furrows.

“Of course not. What I am proposing is different. A middle ground of sort: he is an Avatar of both the Lonely and the Eye. Our Archivist.”

“And you name him the Archivist? You are becoming too eager, dear.”

Jon listens to Elias carefully. “You are telling the truth.” At a raised eyebrow he continues. “Objectively. I just know the truth from falsehood. And what you’ve just said: it rings true.”

“Would you look at that?” Peter smiles fondly. “So you really have both powers under you. Amazing, truly.”

“Jon has been blessed by them. He has no power over them.” Elias seems to wait for an ensurement that he is speaking the truth.

He doesn’t get any which makes both him and Peter look back at Jon. He is nursing his water in silence his eyes closed. “I don’t know.” He tells them when he notices them watching. “I am not good with half-truths.”

“Huh. So I am not completely wrong.” It is enough to make Peter sound smug. 

Jon shrugs. His boney shoulders move rapidly. He becomes to feel the stress he has associated with the company of others. It has been so long since he has spoken to anyone. Even longer since he has held such a long conversation.

“I have a proposition for you, Jon.” Elias quickly picks on his changing mood. “A place to stay and an opportunity to continue your research about the Powers.”

“Hey.” Peter moves to interject, but Elias quiets him down with a look.

“I would like you to officially work here at the Institute. You would be given a place to stay outside, in London. You would also be given an opportunity to find more books that haven’t been discovered yet. Those that are not a part of the library.” At Jon’s surprised look Elias elaborates. “I am well aware that a constant company of others is against your nature.” He shoots a quick look at Peter. “So I would recommend you spend some time with Peter on his boat. You would be able to look to read in peace, acquire new knowledge while paying your tribute to your other god.”

“Why shouldn't I just stay here? Within the fog?” Jon’s voice is weak.

Something deep inside him, something that has yearned for attention since he was a little boy screams at him to stop asking questions. To just say yes. But he knows there will be work to do if he does. Things that will be annoying and stressful. 

“The question is: do you want to? It’s not like we can stop you from running.” Peter leans closer. Jon can feel his heat again.

A broad hand finds its place on his shoulder. It weighs him down. He cannot keep himself from leaning against it. That yearning part of him doesn’t care that he must look stupid, arching like a cat looking for pets.

“I accept.” He answers. He doesn’t sound sure. 

“Good.” Elias looks pleased. Peter just smirks.

* * *

The prospect of a new life doesn't come without some hiccups.

The first one comes during the transportation of his things to, what he later finds out, Elias nad Peter’s house. He doesn’t like the idea of letting _The tale for Mr. Spider_ stay behind in the Insitute. Even Elias's confirmation that it is safe in the Artifact Storage doesn’t feel like enough.

“I am not scared of it.” Jon tries to explain. “I just…”

“Don’t want to lose the knowledge embodiment in it.” Elias nods in what Jon reads as condensation. “It will be here when we arrive tomorrow. Trust me.”

There is nothing that proves Elias is worth his trust. Besides being one of two people who seem to understand Jon. The younger man curses under his breath but relents. He is sure Elias has heard him and tries not to care.

“Is this all?” Peter calls from the door. He has been the one picking up the notebooks and with Jon’s bag thrown over his shoulders, he looks ready to move.

“Yes. I preferred keeping it in one place.”

“Good. What kind of system did you use to keep your notes organized?” Elias offers a distraction as they walk to his car.

Just like he expected it is a topic Jon has thought a lot about. He tells them all about his failures and victories of a comprehensive system. He talks about his notes but soon moves into the fears.

Peter tries to interject, to say that do already have a way of distinguishing all of Powers apart. 

A look from Elias stops him. 

Damn, he shoudn't let the other man lead so easily. But he can agree there is some pleasure in watching someone so young and passionate talking about their secrets. Green eyes keep moving around and each time Peter looks at the back seat they catch his gaze. Kid colors redder and redder. It is a wonder he hasn’t burst into flames. Elias sighs beside him which means he has heard the thought loud and clear. 

“Am I right?” Jon’s voice brings him out of his thoughts.

He has such a nice voice. Peter wonders how will he sound in the bedroom. Will his voice go even deeper or maybe higher in whimpers. It is a nice thought. Elias doesn’t even oppose it.

“Mostly. Let us get to our house and once you are settled we will talk this over.”

“Your house?” Jon’s voice goes high.

Peter decides he likes it that way. “Well, I need to stay somewhere when I’m on land.”

“I understand that. But I think it would be better if I rented a flat.” Jon hesitates. “Or you rented one for me.”

“Nonsens. We have a spare room. And it will be easier if we travel together to and from work. You won’t have to use the Underground.”

It settles any argument Jon could have had. “Fine.”

They travel in silence. London is a blur behind the car’s windows. Jon doesn’t even try guessing where they are going. He knows it will be luxurious. 

The only thing he is looking forward to are hot showers. The feeling of water beating against his skin has always brought him comfort. He’s never gotten dirty inside the fog, but it isn’t the feeling of cleanness he is missing. 

Under the shower, he could just exist, without care about the world outside. Even his thirst for knowledge went dormant. He could just be. Hours spend over books fed his god but he could feel the same weariness in his bones that hasn’t left it since he was a child.

“Here we are,” Elias informs him. He parks in front of a big house. Jon waits until he turns off the engine and quickly gets out of the car.

“Don’t tease him,” Elias warns Peter.

“From where did you get the idea I would?” The sailor tries to sound innocent.

Elias huffs and exits the car. He opens the door to his house and accompanies Jon inside leaving Peter to carry all of Jon’s baggage. 

“‘Settle down Peter.’ he said. ‘Married life is going to help you.’” Peter grumbles under his breath. “What did even tempt me to marry him? I should have gotten someone that would appreciate me.”

He takes the bag and the notebooks inside. He knows where the guest bedroom is and just like he thought he finds Elias and Jon there.

“Feel free to use the towels in the bathroom. We need to buy you additional clothes and toiletries.” Elias looks Jon up and down. “You can borrow something from my wardrobe until then. I am closer to your size than Peter.”

“Oversized sweaters are in style. You could use one.” Peter smirks at Jon. 

The way the colors are never going to get old. 

“Thank you.” The boy looks between them. “Really. I don’t know why you are doing this but just thank you.”

“Curiosity.” Elias answers for both of them. “You are something special, Jon. And now we can help you become what you are supposed to be.”

“What is that?”

“An Archivist.”

“Not only that,” Peter interjects. “We don’t have fancy names but the way you are connected to the Lonely is unique. We should treat the Archivist job as part-time since you will be spending time on the Forsaken with me.”

“So I am supposed to connect the Lonely and the Eye.”

“Yes.”

Jon’s brows furrow. “But I already do.”

It causes the other men to laugh. He would feel left out if not for the crinkle in Elias’s eyes when he looks at him. “You do. But you are going to be so much more.”

Jon steps from one foot to another, unsure of what he is supposed to do.

“We will leave you to settle in. The bathroom on this floor is all yours. I will leave new clothing inside.” Elias informs him. 

He clasps his hand on Peter’s arm to walk him out of the guestroom before the other man can speak up. Unfortunately, he isn’t fast enough.

“If you need any help with showering feel free to call us.” 

Jon squeaks and turns away to look at the room instead of the laughing face of one of his benefactors. The tops of his ears are red.

Elias has to drag Peter behind himself for a moment. He curses the thinner build of his current body. James at least was the same height as Peter. He lets out a breath of annoyance when the other man turns around and links their arms together as if nothing happened.

“I told you not to tease him.” He reminds him.

“Oh, don’t be like that. The kid can use some teasing. Or just talking to. He looks so hungry for other people…” Peter’s tone turns serious at the end of the sentence.

He waits until they reach their bedroom. Elias goes to look through his wardrobe to find something for Jon to sleep in. Peter doesn’t stop him, but he picks up his own shirt from a pile and makes it clear he won’t back down on giving the younger man something of his own.

Elias doesn’t call him out on being the one staking claim. His look says it for him.

“I wasn’t lying before. The way the kid took to the Lonely? Hell, he may not be a part of my family but they wouldn't notice if I smuggled him for the next meet-up. Even better, they would celebrate him.”

“I didn’t know you threw celebrations.” Elias chooses a pair of comfortable pants that he got from Peter for the winter nights he spends alone in their bed.

He has been monitoring Jon’s thoughts closely and his focus on warmth has been worrying.

“I am one hundred percent sure you have been invited to one. The one happening a hundred years ago? Give or take.”

“Possible.”

“Don’t be like that. We both know how livid great-grandma was at you for refusing.”

“I haven’t noticed.”

“Yhm.” Peter chuckles. “The money did stop coming so you must have noticed at some point.”

Elias catches his eye and smiles. “It came back once she died.”

“Talking about killing my ancestors as foreplay? Why you spoil me.”

Peter pulls the other man closer. He ends up leaning across the wardrobe door with Elias standing between his legs. They kiss slowly. Peter isn’t above using each dirty trick he has learned during the past three decades. Elias lets him take control of the kiss. They both know he is only humoring Peter. A broad hand finds its place on his face. It is cool, just like the rest of Peter’s body. It is always satisfying to find a new way to bring warmth to it.

“Excuse me.” Jon’s voice makes them pull apart.

He stands unsure in the entrance to the room. He tries to look everywhere but at them, yet his gaze seems to be pulled to their embrace.

“You’ve changed your mind about needing help in the shower so quickly?” 

“Yes. I want Elias to help me.”

At Peter’s gawking face Jon smiles. His lips are unused to making such a gesture so it comes off a little bit weird. Yet it does make his eyes shine and crow feet appear around them. 

Peter can feel Elias shaking against him with laughter.

“You are joking.” He sighs. “I mean, I would have been hear-broken if you chose only him, but what can I say. I would live with the knowledge you were in good hands.”

“Now, now Peter. Paying me compliments doesn’t suit you.” Elias steps back from him. “Here are the clothes I promised.”

He doesn’t go to Jon. Instead, he waits, knowing that the younger man will feel compelled to enter their bedroom.

“Thank you.” Jon’s smile turns bashful. “I didn’t think about getting clothes when I went away.”

Elias hums. “It must be quite a tale. I would be glad to hear it over a meal later.”

Jon stands close enough to them he only has to reach out to take the clothes. He doesn’t expect a hand to catch his wrist and gently tug him forward. 

A part of him is glad that Peter doesn’t outright kiss him. Another is slightly disappointed. To have a first kiss stolen by someone that actually understands him and he finds pleasing to look at has never even been an option before.

Peter is warm against him. A pair of strong arms circle him and comes to rest around his waist. He lets himself rest for a second. 

“Now then. I feel like I can forgive you that little lie of yours.” He feels Peter’s voice more than hears it.

The beard moves against his hair when Peter nuzzles against his head. Jon’s heart picks up. He hears his blood thumping in his ears and suddenly he is at arms’ length from Peter.

“Easy there, lad. Getting used to other people's touch is going to take a while.”

“It would be easier if they didn’t attack me out of nowhere.”

“My bad.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at all.

He squeezes Jon’s arm and lets him go. “Be on your way then. If you don’t want to be tackled next of course.”

“No thank you.” Jon shakes his head. He takes the clothes still held by Elias. The other man looks wholly amused by the whole situation. “I came here for a reason. I just wanted to ask if you have any spare toothbrush and a comb.”

“We should. You will find it under the sink.” 

“Thank you.” Jon turns back and quickly walks out of the room.

He can still feel the imprint of heat around his back. The smell of Peter's cologne lingers around him.

* * *

“You are helpless.” Elias sends Peter a disapproving look.

He starts to undress from his usual attire and looks for something more comfortable.

“We both know he is cold. Colder than me even and that’s saying something.” Peter shrugs.

He observes his partner, smiling at the sight of bare skin. It still feels like a privilege to see the great Jonah Magnus naked. 

“And there are ways much more efficient to bring him back from the Lonely than tackling.”

“I haven’t gotten that far. Yet.”

Elias looks over his shoulder. He tries to look bemused but his eyes betray him. The way they soften when he looks at Peter makes the other man almost believe he is loved.

“The Lonely is still my domain. I will leave his voyeuristic tendencies to you.”

“We will have to find the middle ground at some point. He is after all tying our Patrons together.”

Once Peter is sure the show is over since Elias is fully clothed he starts looking for a change of clothing as well.

“Isn’t it just too perfect?” He chooses a t-shirt he is sure Elias hates because of how often he finds it at the bottom of the shelf. “He drops into our laps just like that.”

“If you have an idea you should speak up.”

“Because… you can’t read minds?”

“And you still see yourself as a funny man. How tragic.”

“You should speak to my husband. He thinks I’m hilarious.” Peter folds his clothes the way he knows is expected of him. One of their compromises. “I have my doubts about someone so strongly bonded with the fog and apparently the Eye just arriving somewhere at random.”

“A gift then. To us from our gods?”

“Maybe.”

They look at each other. Silent communication doesn’t consist of words but of feelings. 

Peter projects his worry and excitement while Elias responds with curiosity and eagerness. They leave their bedroom and walk towards the kitchen. Inside they take their usual roles, Elias cooks while Peter watches with a drink in hand.

A few years of marriage turned out to be enough for them to learn their strengths.

“What do you think?” Peter takes a sip of his scotch.

“About what?”

“The weather. About our lovely Jon.”

Elias starts adding the ingredients into the pan. “He has great potential. And his arrival is rather surprising. But there is one thing that I have noticed.” He looks up, his eyes cold and judging.

Peter sits up straight. In times like this, he can feel the age behind those eyes. His worth as a companion is being judged and he doesn’t even know what counts in his favor.

“He hasn’t aged.” Elias finally looks away. “His hair is the same length. I have monitored how much food has been stolen from the cafeteria and it hasn’t been enough for him to survive for half a year.”

“The Lonely changes how you perceive time.” Peter agrees.

“It’s not that.” Elias clicks his tongue. “He has stopped aging, not thought the time went faster than it really did. Although it begs the question of how long did he think he was there.”

Peter takes his time with his drink. 

“You want to use him for your immortality project, don’t you?” He concludes.

“I like to keep my options open.”

Peter snorts. “So yes.” He shakes his head. “I really don’t get it. You are already immortal. Hell, you will probably change a body in a decade or two just because you find something better.”

“I like to think I will choose something that will fit both of our preferences.”

Peter doesn’t blush often. He tries to hide his flaming cheeks behind the glass.

“Sure. Still, don’t go scaring the kid just because you want to stay in one body for longer than fifty years. I get a feeling he might be worth a lot more.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Only if I can be jealous of the way you look at him.” 

They smile at each other. They may have had different opinions about many different topics, but on this, they had an agreement. They were going to keep Jon as theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i feel like i need a hug bc i've been stuck in my flat for more than a half a year bc of the pandemic? maybe.  
> do I have soft spot for: the love made them realize their plan was stupid so they just left it to be with the people they loved? sure  
> am I basing Peter on my own habit of being a little shit? you betcha ya

**Author's Note:**

> another AU bc I have too many ideas and I have a problem with finding out when should I stop writing  
> 


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